


Hydrangeas by the Lotus Pond

by Elzariel



Category: Original Work
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-11-30
Updated: 2020-08-15
Packaged: 2021-02-26 01:20:18
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 12,810
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21615208
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Elzariel/pseuds/Elzariel
Summary: one MC gets dealt a crap hand by life, but stumbles into a loving teacher, then a loving family.the other MC gets isekai'd, again, but takes it in stride, because he has a mission.a.k.a two tales happening at different times to two people who might not seem connected, but are(what do you mean my summary sucks?)
Kudos: 1





	1. A quiet meeting in a small inn, under the crescent moon

**Author's Note:**

> Ayyy I started vomiting out my xianxia OC bs! Here, take a playlist, https://www.youtube.com/playlist?list=PLMfl_Nht9-qnf6PBL5SfzoRyrET6fR5Rr, have fun reading and don't feel shy tearing me apart in comments, but remember that I'm a novice at best, I'm just here pouring out my crap onto text form
> 
> expect updates slow af  
> also I ain't used AO3 for this ever so, expect me to screw something up somewhere

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "What is your name?" the man asks. His voice is even, but warm. Its so unlike what everyone around uses daily, the boy almost forgets to answer.
> 
> "..family name Wúqíng (无情). Given name Mǎo (昴)." Mǎo answers hastily, too hastily. His voice quivering, unsure. Anyone would, if a stranger showed up on your rented room's windowsill, in the middle of a night.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I wasn't gonna link my picks for the BGM for each chapter, but I realized how much I rely on music to write, so I'm gonna do that at the start of a chapter from now on. I know how each person gets a different vibe from different songs, so its not like I'm enforcing this, just wanted to offer a chance for people to hear what I hear while I'm writing something :P  
> Chapter 1 is https://youtu.be/Zg56Qt_NrOA, or Jigoku Shoujo Mitsuganae "Soushoku" - 26. Roku Bun Tourou

"What is your name?" the man asks. His voice is even, but warm. Its so unlike what everyone around him uses daily, the boy almost forgets to answer.

  
"..family name Wúqíng (无情). Given name Mǎo (昴)." Mǎo answers hastily, too hastily. His voice quivering, unsure. He almost trips over his words. Anyone would, if a stranger showed up on your rented room's windowsill, in the middle of a night.

  
"Ah?" The stranger looks baffled. Like someone has just told him the sun will tomorrow rise from the west. Mǎo cocks his head at the strange man's confusion. Its his name. Yes, not conventional, almost bizarre, but its still his name. Is the man mocking the name for being weird? Even though Mǎo does not care for his family or their honor, that would still feel... wrong.

  
"I'm not mocking you little friend! Please do not take it as such! This elder is just.. surprised? At the coincidence. Yes." The stranger nods, seemingly to himself, a slight smile gracing a handsome face. He looks to be maybe in his 30s, at worst. Why is he using such an odd term to address himself, the boy wonders. More so in front of a 9-year old.

  
A soft wind blows through the window, rustling fabric and blowing stray hairs around the man sitting on the windowsill. Mǎo takes a few moments to take in his visitor, now that the suddenness of the situation starts to bleed away.

As he noted, thirties at worst, no older. But with cultivators, sometimes looks can be deceiving. Would asking for the other male's age be seen as rude? Does it matter how old this night time intruder is?  
The man has wild, unruly curly hair cascading down his back, making him seem larger than he is. His hair is an odd, uneven shade of mahogany, reminiscent of tree bark or a finely crafted piece of furniture. At a closer look, this isn't someone one would see as "sturdy", more willowy. A scholar. But even then, or maybe because of that, he looks stunning. The longer Mǎo stares, the less he is sure he's looking at a human, that's how ethereal the other man looks. Like a celestial maiden taking human shape, perhaps. There's even a gauzy, see-through piece of almost weightless fabric hanging off the man's arms, like those paintings of celestial maiden's at the sect library. The fabric a muted shade of lavender accented perfectly with his robes, a mixture of greys and purples, washed out in color.

What strikes Mao the most, is the realization that the man isn't wearing any shoes. Instead most of his feet are covered by an odd, almost sock-like piece of fabric. The boy has to take a few breaths to tear his eyes away from the stranger's feet, with bare toes laid against the inn's rough stucko wall, black nails glistening in candlelight.  
To distract from the man's absolutely bizarre choice of.. footwear? Mao moves his eyes to stare at the man's hands, only to find a very similar situation. Most of the hand covered in a glove, but with fingers un-bound by fabric. Only a small silver ring on each middlefinger holding the fabric of the glove tight.  
It reminds Mao of buddhist priests, but only vaguely. No priest he has seen has ever been barefoot!

"Um.. Eld- ...Gentleman, I do not wish to seem rude.. But you are a cultivator, aren't you?" Mǎo's speech stutters immediately at the term, deciding to use something that feels less weird halfway through the word, earning a surprised raise of an eyebrow from the visitor. He only suspects the man to be a cultivator. That's the only logical reason for anyone to barge into Mao's room like this, even though most who have tried to contact the boy never got this far.

  
"Technically, I suppose that is true. This elder does not enjoy most of the aspects of a cultivator's life, but if pressed this one could be called a cultivator. If asked however, much rather than a cultivator, this one would prefer an artesan. Or a scholar. Even teacher." The man's smile doesn't reach his eyes at the mentions of cultivators, but warms noticeably when he gets to the other titles. (The enforcing of Elder does not go unnoticed by Mǎo, so he chooses to follow the man's unspoken preference)

  
"Are y- uhh is the elder here to.. Will- Why is the elder here, in my room, at this hour..?" Mǎo hasn't felt fear in years. Mao might be 9. He might be small and look frail, but he has been scarred by a life most would look at with immense pity. A family that does not care, a sect that does not care, a world that does not care. But even then, any nine year old will find this situation at least alarming, so he wants more details, a reason.  
The question causes the man still sitting on the window sill like a painting, to look surprised.

  
"This one doubts you aren't smart enough not to understand your situation at least a bit, even if you are a child. You do understand many wish to acquire your body for cultivation, correct?" The man points at Mǎo, with a well cared for nail painted in a dark color, hard to see in the dim room, who nods, solemnly. He does know. Oh how he knows.

Many have tried to fight the Myriad Swords sect over the disciple in the past year or so. The second the sect realized what the Wúqíng family sent to their amidts and the news was leaked, Mǎo's life had turned from running errands, to a chaotic mess. A chaotic, terrifying mess. Hopping from inn to inn, city to city, trying to avoid whoever tried to abduct the boy next.

The Myriad Swords, being righteous cultivators, had sought help from other righteous sects almost immediately, but receiving very little back. Most had not even answered the queries, some had sent in half-hearted replies, some even asked for the boy to be sent to them so they could "help" him "grow as a cultivator". A blatant lie dressed up as sympathy.  
The Wúqíng family had all but cut all contact with the sect the second the boy was off their hands in a honorable and legal manner. When the sect had finally gotten their hands on one of the family elders, the reply was curt and short. "You accepted him as a disciple. He's your problem now."

Mǎo had heard later that the sect member sent to speak to the family had screamed at the elder in rage, asking why the family didn't just sell the boy to the highest bidder or kill him themselves, if it was such a burden. Why push their problem onto a sect, now tearing itself apart because nobody could agree on what to do with the "Problem".   
The sect member was punished severely when he returned with the news (and more when the rumor mill of the shouting had reached the sect later).

  
Pure yin body, with a split qi-reserve that was battling to hold any yang energy in it due to the over-abundant yin, had the Myriad Swords sect's Pill Refining House master said.  
Mǎo had been explained to by the house master, in a very clinical way, that the usual situation would be that a cultivator's qi reserves could be imagined as two cups. One holding yin and one holding yang qi. Some people had a bigger cup for one, some had two very similar cups. Other rarer cases could have enormous space for qi from birth, making filling their cups hard and cultivation an arduous journey of trying to manage immense amounts of qi.  
But in Mǎo's case, he had no cups. He had one cup. A large, deep one, yes, but it was holding two bladders in it. One had yin qi, the other yang qi. As a male, Mǎo used yang qi for anything cultivation related by default, thus the bladder holding it became emptier as he trained. The problems arose, because as the yang qi bladder emptied, it gave room for the yin qi bladder to absorb yin qi from his surroundings, filling the yin qi bladder. The more Mǎo trained and used his yang qi, the fuller the yin qi bladder became, leaving no space for the yang qi bladder to refill again. (The house master helpfully explained this to 8 year old Mǎo via some quite artistic drawings)  
This meant that after a while, Mǎo would run out of yang qi completely, without a way to use up the yin qi, essentially running the boy dry of the force keeping him concious and alive. It did not help, that at the point of training Mǎo was at, he was now using yang qi daily naturally, so even if he stopped cultivating this instant, he would still face an eventual end to his constitution.  
Nobody would mourn a cultivational failure, this was a fact in the world. The problem for the sect arose from the fact that pure yin plus huge, over spilling reserves of yin qi, was the perfect combination for a cauldron.

  
As the news started to ripple outwards from the righteous sects, most of who turned their back to the usage of cauldrons, it also reached the ears of those who did not care for morality. The "unrighteous" sects and the demonic sects.  
The latter were more numerous in their attempts, the former more diplomatic.  
Myriad Swords had spent over a year trying to decide what to do with their baggage. The sect was split into many small splinters on the issue. Some wanted to kick the boy out, honor be damned. Others wanted to use the disciple to further their own cultivation. The Pill Refining House had their own ideas, most which weren't spoken anywhere but strictly behind closed doors. Mǎo had heard the rumors from less scrupulous servants. He did not want to think about the rumours much.

  
So yes. Mǎo knew. He knew probably much more than most of the adults around him thought he did.

"This disciple is aware of his situation. But not of elder's intentions or reasons." Mǎo bowed his head then, hoping to at least appear respectful, from his hunched over sitting position on the bed. The man was not wearing anything that would make him seem like he was from the demonic sects, his robes seemed clean and well arranged, unlike the rags most demonic sect kidnappers seemed to favor.

  
"What if this elder said he had ways to treat your body's constitution so you could cultivate with no ill effects? Nay, so you could cultivate at much faster a pace than that of your average inner courtyard disciple?" The boy's head snapped up to stare at the man.

  
Something in this man's voice told Mǎo he wasn't lying. Partly it was because the man did not offer a cure. He offered treatment. He had also seen through the boy's disappointment at being told he would have to stop cultivating just to stay alive for a few years longer. But even then, it was mostly something in Mǎo's gut telling him that this man wasn't offering just to entice someone to a trap. It was almost if the man was.. sympathetic? Was it pity?

  
"If you accept this elder as your master, this elder can't promise you much, but what this elder can promise, is a quiet courtyard with safety and peace."

Before Mǎo can ask more, or even think, the door to the room is slammed open with enough force that the door makes a threatening creak as it hits the wall.

  
The next few minutes are a flurry of Myriad Swords sect guards, of billowing robes and unsheated swords. Men yelling and the nice shijie from the Pill Refining House asking him if he's alright. But Mǎo is staring at the window, after a man who disappeared into the night without a sound. All that is left of the visitor, is a single, enormous hydrangea bloom on a stem long enough to span Mǎo's whole forearm. The bloom itself can hide most of his face behind it if held in front of his head. Its the color of the sky right after the sun finally disappears behind the horizon at night, slightly damp from the night air, wearing a misty layer of water like a bride wears a veil.

  
After a year running from people he wished would just kill him already and before that, 7 years of being grown first like a servant, then like a burden, safety and peace sounds like heaven.

  
Elder Xiùqiú (绣球) it shall be then.  
No, the boy corrects in his head.

Shifu.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Translation notes (late but who cares):  
> I'm gonna end up forgetting the hyphens at some point soon, so if you don't see any, pretend they're there, I'll try to get them right at least in the translation notes (edit: I'm editing after chapter 3 has been written but not posted, hyphens have been abandoned)
> 
> Wúqíng (无情) = ruthless, merciless, heartless, pitiless  
> When talking about the family name, I'll use Wuqing, but if I'm talking about the Peak I'll use Ruthless, to keep them separate (lets see how many times I write Unforgiving instead of Ruthless)
> 
> Mǎo (昴) = Pleiades  
> The phonetic sounds for "Mao" can refer to several characters, but the one for Mao's name is for Pleiades. Other uses for the phonetic include "spear" or 矛, I haven't decided yet how to deal with the confusion there, but I'll decide when I get there
> 
> Xiùqiú (绣球) = Hydrangea


	2. TFW you get Isekai'd, again and you have to take stock and plan, again

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "First things first. Who am I," the man thought to himself, rising up to stand, realizing his robes were now slightly damp on several spots.
> 
> "Kong Ming Yu. Peak lord of the Ruthless Peak of Shadow Veiled Moon Sect," a strong nod followed the muttered sentence, as if congratulating himself on staying calm in an unknown situation. The face he pulled afterwards didn't hide in the least the discomfort he had from the pitiful amount of joy knowing his own damn name brought.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> BGM for this one is https://youtu.be/xl2C1w9BsSI, or Molagon - Orientation

  
Waking up feeling a vicious cramp forming in your lower back has never been on the top 10 good mornings for Ming Yu.  
He was sure he wouldn't have to wake up to cramps again after changing all, and he meant all, headrests on his peak to proper pillows. This was apparently now proven wrong and it was causing some fairly strong curse words to start surfacing out from the immortal, like gas bubbles forming from a tar pit.

  
Before he could open his mouth and swear, however, the man opened his eyes to peer at the bright blue sky above.  
Ah. Well. That explained the sore back. This wasn't his bedroom or his glorious canopy bed.  
Where the fuck was this then!?

  
The last thing he remembered was trying to find the treasure room of a certain ruin, having heard rumours of an odd portal showing up in a mirror there every full moon.  
But he had no clear memory of anything besides that. He surmised he probably found the portal mirror? Seeing as he was in a forest he didn't recognize. The ruins where in some mountains and it had been winter when he entered..

  
Sitting up took some effort, not particularly because of weakness or pain, mind you, but purely because everything felt off kilter. Like looking at a painting that was transposed with a copy of itself, but only ever so slightly skewered to the left.

  
The forest around him looked.. well. Normal. Forest-y. It had a good mixture of decicuous trees, so probably not a very cold climate, at least not enough to warrant only firs. With no animal life in sight, it was hard to grasp much, but with the mostly "normal" looking foliage, it at least wasn't any sort of hellscape, so that was... good? It was probably good?

"First things first. Who am I," the man thought to himself, rising up to stand, realizing his robes were now slightly damp on several spots.  
"Kong Ming Yu. Peak lord of the Ruthless Peak of Shadow Veiled Moon Sect," a strong nod followed the muttered sentence, as if congratulating himself on staying calm in an unknown situation. The face he pulled afterwards didn't hide in the least the discomfort he had from the pitiful amount of joy knowing his own damn name brought.

Ming Yu decided that instead of talking to himself like a lunatic, it would be better to take stock on the situation silently, while walking to a direction. Any direction.

  
The reason he was transported to an unknown forest via magical mystery mirror was to find a disciple. His only disciple. An issue that caused more than a bit of friction between the sect's peak lords and him, but seemed to not in the least bother the sect leader himself. Ming Yu understood this completely. That brat had zero interest in what Peak Lord Kong did after all, this was one of the tenents the brat's father had sworn on the boy as he ascended to sect leaderhood 250 or so years back.

  
"Do not bother Ruthless Peak. Do not even try to put yourself between the dramatics other peaks have towards Ruthless Peak. Ruthless Peak will support you without a single issue as long as you let the Peak Lord do as he pleases. Trust me son, you will fly off the sect leader's seat before Ruthless Peak ever has a change of Lord. This is how its been since 6 leaders back and this is how it'll be probably at least 6 leaders forwards."

  
"But father, the sect hasn't HAD more than 6 leaders.." had apparently been the boy's retort, which had then caused the most glacial, hall silencing glare from the past leader, Guanyin grant him peace, wherever his soul now lays.

What broke Ming Yu from his musings of the past (and the hilarious resolution the current sect head had to pretend Kong Ming Yu did not exist or if he did it was akin to some sort of natural disaster that one could not prepare for or help, only manage its casualties) was the fact that the air around him felt different.  
It almost felt like the qi in the air was richer. Like one of the imperial gardens that had been made to have an abundant, overflowing amount of qi in the air, to boost anyone cultivating in it.  
But it was also different in quality, not just quantity. It felt... untouched. Pristine.  
That raised questions about the nature of the portal Ming Yu had entered. Was this even the same world he had been last? After all he had no proof that the portal wasn't interdimensional. It could even be moving him through time, if the deities so willed. Who knew? Not him.

New issue then, was he now a transmigrator too, not just a reincarnator!? Fabulous!

  
Deciding it best to keep moving and wonder about if this was "his" world or not for later, Ming Yu started his trek to a random direction. After all, that world wasn't "his" either, just the one he'd spent most time in.  
Not that anyone but him knew about it.  
Kong Ming Yu wasn't his first name. Before the immortal had agreed to help a whelp set up an unrighteous sect some 2000 years back and before he had been a disciple himself even farther back, the soul carrying the name of Kong Ming Yu, had lived somewhere far different, for a short life, not even reaching his 40s.  
But nobody knew of that. Not even his singular disciple. It had felt odd to mention it, since it was three millennias behind him, now just faint memories and odd mannerisms that sometimes caught up to him. Why bother trying to explain the topic when it wasn't even a tenth of who he was. (and the abundant inner monologue cursing definitely was part of that one tenth)  
It mattered even less in this forest, that seemed to stretch forever, no matter how long he walked.

  
It took embarrassingly long before the man realized he could just ride a sword above the trees and find his way around.  
Ming Yu chose resolutely to refuse to aknowledge the two hours of walking he did before realizing he literally had an arsenal of spiritual weapons in his storage rings and other accessories waiting to be summoned. So he chose to ignore it like any self-respecting millennial would. It didn't happen! Simple! Out of sight, out of mind! Or wait, out of mind out of... Moving on!

  
Mounting the sword he didn't actually use for combat, but purely for riding, was a simple affair and took him above the trees in seconds.  
What awaited him was, simply put, a bit of a let down.  
Ming Yu was expecting either a vast, endless sea of trees or some sort of mountain wall maybe. Something dramatic! Despair inducing!  
Not maybe another hour's walk the same direction he had been going in, a village. That just seemed anticlimatic and.. well boring. It seemed absolutely normal and wholly boring!  
Now travel took on a practiced ease of standing stock still, trying to pretend the wind whipping his hair every which way wasn't increasingly annoying.  
His thoughts where interrupted from cursing his fondness of the hair this body had and wonderings on chopping it all off so it wouldn't keep getting INTO. HIS MOUTH. by a young boy running under him. The only reason the boy caught his attention was that he was wearing light colored clothes, easily seen in the green foliage.

  
For a moment, the immortal considered just following the boy and letting him be, but a thought occurred spontaneously. Could he speak the language of this world? There was a spell that would let him take a peek at the boy's thoughts and memories, so if he could casually get the boy to let him close enough, he should be able to give some information on the world..  
Choosing to take the risk, hoping that the boy was indeed alone and wouldn't assume the worst of a random stranger dropping from the sky, Ming Yu descended a few feet away from the boy's trajectory to "accidentally stumble" upon him.

  
Pretending to be weak and confused wasn't that hard, so getting the boy who looked to be about 14-15 in touching distance was simple. Just pretend to almost fall over and viola, you can happily get skin contact and do whatever nefarious memory stealing one wished.

  
The boy was by his side in seconds, holding the older, taller male up while looking worried. He was asking something from Ming Yu, franctic, while glancing behind them a few times.

  
Turns out no, Ming Yu could not speak the language of this world.  
Well he could NOW, but he couldn't before stealing that knowledge from the boy's head.

  
It also seemed like this world was an odd mixture of genres. If the world before had been mostly strictly xianxia, with some odd flashes of fantasy and wuxia, this one was much more western fantasy. Not fully, it also had some flourishes of eastern fantasy, but cultivation didn't seem familiar to the boy's memories, aside some minute mentions, small enough to miss. Maybe it was more popular somewhere else in the world?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Translation notes, sort of, kinda:
> 
> I had no chosen way to write any of this, so you don't get much, but KMY's peak is written the same way as Mao's surname, for Ruthless, 无情  
> For KMY's name, I don't actually know the right way to write the reference (because Kong Ming is a reference), but Yu would be 雨, for Yǔ (again with this hyphen my keyboard cannot write without copy paste, am I a masochist?)  
> And since I'm too into revenge stories, I'm deciding to use 明 for Ming (bright)  
> Kong should be 空, for Air, but I'm not 100% sure, so I'm winging it and going for it  
> So his name is 空 明雨
> 
> I ain't setting characters for Shadow Veiled Moon because I'm not suicidal :P I'd never get it to sound proper


	3. Nice Shijie from Pill Refinement House

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The morning dawns with chattering voices and the faint smells of breakfast. Mao knows the nice shijie will bring breakfast to him, as its been deemed too dangerous to have the boy walk around. He won't complain. The shijie is friendly, talks with him like he's normal and usually tries to bring enough breakfast for a growing boy.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> BGM for this time https://youtu.be/FDqZtT1TNTM or Mushishi OST 2 - Ganpuku Me Wazawai

After the room is emptied from the sudden influx of angry men with swords, Mao is left alone for the night. Apparently, there will be a shixiong sitting outside the door and someone will be patrolling the courtyard at all times. Somehow, even with the information the boy holds of the visitor, he doubts this will stop the man if he wants to meet Mao again. The night is spent wondering why he's so sure of this, maybe the ethereal aura the man wore like an outer robe is the reason? Is that what someone at higher levels of cultivation looks like? Would his cultivation be so high that he could.. what? Decimate whoever dared go against him? But the man had left so swiftly and peacefully, that didn't seem right. Then to just walk past the guard? Mao knew some cultivators could hide their presence so well you couldn't tell they were next to you..

  
The boy spent most of the night thinking, mulling over his situation and tossing around the small, hard bed. Somewhere before the sun rose, with a determined, but deeply tired sigh, he succumbed to sleep for a few fitful hours.

The morning dawns with chattering voices and the faint smells of breakfast. Mao knows the nice shijie will bring breakfast to him, as its been deemed too dangerous to have the boy walk around. He won't complain. The shijie is friendly, talks with him like he's normal and usually tries to bring enough breakfast for a growing boy. Most of the other people in the entourage don't care enough to bring much more than bland congee and if luck lets, some blander vegetables. Shijie brings mantou, tea with honey and meat for the congee that is never delicious, but it has taste.

  
Today, she comes in looking a bit haggard, like her sleep hasn't come to her easy either, but she's still carrying the tray with two breakfast sets. Sometimes Mao wonders if the only reason her breakfast is better than what anyone else brings in, is because she eats with him. It would make sense for her to feel uncomfortable to eat next to someone eating a lonely bowl of congee and bland tea, surely. But the thought is usually pushed back by a boy who hangs onto the one friendly person around like a lifeline. Shijie isn't like that, she's nice. If she isn't..

  
That thought is shooed away even faster than thoughts of pity-breakfast.

"I hope the man last night didn't bother shidi too much," shijie's voice wavers a bit, but her concern looks genuine. She's wearing her hair up on a tight bun as usual, but it looks more messy today. Mao isn't an expert at what people would call "pretty", but he thinks this shijie is fairly pretty. Not a beauty, with her round face and watery eyes, but still she isn't ugly. However much that means coming from a nine year old.

  
"The elder only talked with this disciple," Mao isn't about to blabber about his thought of accepting the offer from last night to anyone, but maybe shijie would understand?

  
"Talked? What about? You can ignore all their comments if they were mean! Shidi hasn't done anything wrong. Wanting to live and cultivate is not a crime. And shidi can drop the polite tone, I'm not from a noble family or anything fancy. Talk to me normally!"

  
It takes Mao several long moments and two heavy spoonfuls of congee to speak up, but when he does, its with a tired, heavy tone.  
"Shijie, what do you think should be done to me?"

  
"Nothing! Nothing at all! They should all leave you alone!" Her reaction doesn't come as a surprise to Mao, but it seems like some kind of dam has burst, as the girl slams a fist to the small table, flinging a bit of congee off her spoon to the left for some poor maid to find later.

  
"You know what I mean shijie.." Mao is interrupted by a ranting hurricane shaped like a teenager who could pass for a mother-in-law scolding her whole household. Something in shijie's angry outburst warms the boy's heart.

  
"I do! And I mean what I said! I'm absolutely sick and tired of the whole group acting like shidi is a burden or some sort of curse on the sect! A child should live freely and do what they find fun! Not be dragged around dodging demonic sect cultivators to stay alive and starved! I joined Myriad Swords to learn medicine and help people! Not to be asked if I think a child should have their core remo-" As she slaps herself on the mouth, the girl's face turns ashen while her eyes snap to look at Mao, who is calmly eating his mantou.

  
"I- I didn't mean- That's just- just a rumour! Its not like I was asked-" Before she can finish her stuttering sentence, Mao looks at the older girl with a look that drips pity. It silences her like a slap to the face.

  
"I know what they are saying shijie. I know most of it. Shijie is good at keeping secrets. Most people aren't. Especially when they are vindictive and angry."

  
It takes her a long pause to say anything, but when she does, its with a tone that has an edge of absolute conviction.  
"What does shidi want then? I doubt shidi wants to agree to anything the Pill Refining House is suggesting. The Demonic Sects are only looking for materials, so that is a death sentence on its ow-"

  
"This disciple will leave with the elder when he returns."

  
"Absolutely not! Have you even thought about this for more than a night?! Why is a creep who sneaks into a young boy's room during the night better than the 17 other un-righteous sect assholes who showed up before talking flowery about taking good care of you!? How could-" her words are dripping in distaste, anger and a strange possessive edge, it makes her seem years older than her age, but all that is washed away by a strangled noise.

  
A sob wrenches itself out of Mao. A tired, quiet, meek sound while the boy curls in on himself over a bowl of lukewarm congee. As the tear drops fall to join the mediocre meal, Mao's voice comes out as a hoarse whisper not meant for a 9 year old.  
"Shijie! I'm tired! People have died to keep me in Myriad Swords! I have seen people die and not only those who attack us! Its been... so long... The sect doesn't want me. My family doesn't want me. Shijie, you are nice, but there's nothing you can do to help me. The choices I have are simply to choose where I want to die and to who my death will bring profit. I'm not dumb! If I have to choose how I go, at least I think I can trust this one not to throw me down the stairs first or cut me open while awake to tear my core out because it would "help me live a normal life" like the PIll Refining House said!"

  
The room feels several degrees colder, the tea long since forgotten and cold. A sobbing boy wipes his sleeves at teary eyes, on the way picking up a healthy grease stain from the congee. The teenager stares at the child, stunned silent, brain reeling to catch up to the painful truth of a life not worth much and the reality that the boy knows.

  
"You.. You are too young to choose something like this.." it almost sounds like even she isn't believing her argument, but it spills out before it can be stopped.

  
"Then will you put me into a coma for 10 years and ask again later?! Will I be the cause of 100 more deaths before someone decides enough is enough!? When can I be free!? Why do I have to suffer causing so much destruction if I'm completely fine dying right this instant!? Let me die! I want to DIE!" His outburst, hickuping, awkward and shouted at such a conviction it rattles bones in a weak chest not used to such volume, rips a coughing fit out of Mao. It takes its sweet time calming down, making the other person in the room feel an increasing, soul crushing amount of guilt over the frail body in front of her.

Now both occupants of the room are staring down, neither looking anywhere but their hands. Shijie's trembling slightly, coming to terms to what exactly Mao's situation is, as if a veil has been lifted from her eyes. Mao's still and growing damp from the tears, that seem to keep going no matter how much he wipes or dries on the smudged, heavily used robes.  
To an outsider, this might look like a sibling fight, but the mood in the room has gone from drowsy morning to a tomb, only broken by a few hiccups from the boy and nervous shuffling from the older girl.

It takes a while for either to move, but eventually, Mao picks up his spoon and starts eating the cold congee that now has a distinct aftertaste of depression on it. Or maybe its dust. Same difference.

  
"..So you'll go with the creep from last night if he comes back?" The girl ends her sudden question with a mouthful of room temperature tea, now looking even more haggard than before.

  
"Yes. Out of all the ones that have come, he was the least... um... what did shijie call them? Slimy? I- I know its not much.. but.." The cold congee sits uncomfortably in his stomach, as Mao peers at the older girl carefully from under his lashes.

  
"Then I'm going with you."

  
"Shijie!? You can't!" Mao's face looks sheet white and the last piece of mantou on its way to his mouth now falls into the empty congee bowl with a soft thump, before the boy is launched off his seat to stand up in horror.

  
"I can and I will!"

  
"But shijie you can- The sect! You're an inner courtyard disciple!? You can't abandon that fo-"

  
Mao's terror is silenced with a raised palm and the stone cold face of a young woman who has made her choices, "I don't care. My distain for Myriad Swords has been growing gradually, and if shidi is going to his death willingly, I'm going to do my duty as a doctor and follow until the end. Who knows, maybe whichever sect your weird night visitor is from turns out to NOT encourage ripping bits out of disciples for kicks! Besides, this isn't for you to decide is it, shidi? This is my choice. Just like yours is yours."  
The look she gives at Mao is an odd mixture of stern and pleased. But the next sentence flips Mao's expectations of a tongue lashing on its head.  
"And, for the record, its Chu Lingling."

  
"What?"

  
"My name. We have no knowledge of what our situation will be after tonight, so if I won't be shijie anymore, you can call me A-ling, since we're in this together now." Chu Lingling's smile is now full of warmth. Somehow, Mao feels the tears come back and before he can start wiping his face, there's a softer touch instead. A handkerchief is almost painfully smooshed against his nose, with a snappy "Blow!" barked at him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Translation notes for this chapter are fairly straightforward. (I was tempted to call the chapter Shijie Congee, Shijie)
> 
> I chose to use the chinese terms because I just can't bear to write "martial elder sister" this many times without having a stroke, so Shijie it is. Shixiong is on the same track, but elder brother. Following this trend then, we can surmise that Shidi is martial younger brother. (for anyone not in the know and interested, the one missing is then shimei)  
> (*informecial voice over voice* Did you know, that the chinese word for siblings is xiongdi jiemei? I don't know I should be impressed at the logic or horrified of the laziness. This information will be relevant later *cough*)


	4. Teen roasts immortal on fashion choices into a shame induced flashback

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Its a blessing when the hunting party pops into view from behind a bend on the path, because it shuts Eli up. Or more accurately, aims his motormouth at someone else than Ming Yu.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this one is hard on the BGM since its got two distinct feels to it, the talk between Eli and Ming Yu being neutral and then the flashback being.. not fun. So I'll leave BGM for the talk as empty or for the reader to turn on some ambient forest sounds I dunno, but the flashback would be Jigoku Shoujo Mitsuganae "Soushoku" - 27. Enma Ai

Ming Yu learns a lot of things while walking with the teen he "accidentally met" in the forest.

  
Firstly that his name is Eli. Secondly, he's 15 and is in the forest with his father and some other men from the village. Apparently a group of hunters has been camping on the mountains near by for the past week for a scheduled hunt and is on its way back home. Eli tagged along even though he's too young to actually hunt properly, so instead has been tasked with herb gathering and scouting. The reason he was running through the undergrowth was to return back to the main path, which surprisingly is only a few minutes away, even with the slow pace they now cut due to Ming Yu's "weakened state". The boy believes Ming Yu's lies way too easily.

  
When thick trees give in to a path, clearly made by large herd animals, it takes no more than a whistle from Eli to find the hunters. Another, sharper whistle comes from further ahead the path, driving the teen to start walking towards it, supporting a (hopefully) convincingly weak looking Ming Yu.

  
"I was going to ask earlier mister, but how come you're wearing so much loose fabric? Ain't that bothersome in the forest? I'd imagine it annoying to get all that stuck on branches and the like," Eli has been talking non-stop for the past hour, but this is the first actual questions towards the other male, oddly enough. Its as if the boy doesn't even consider the situation odd or dangerous.

"Its just what I'm used to, that's al-"

  
"And its all such colorful fabrics! How'd you keep it clean? Ain't that kinda fancy fabric hard to wash? So many layers too! I'd die in the heat if I wore that! Mom always says I ain't allowed to wear nothing I can't wash myself. What if you get blood on them!?"

Its a blessing when the hunting party pops into view from behind a bend on the path, because it shuts Eli up. Or more accurately, aims his motormouth at someone else than Ming Yu. The last 27 years have been even quieter without the solemn, sparsely worded company of his disciple and the teen is starting to grate on the immortal's nerves something fierce. (The sting in his heart at thinking of his disciple is talked sweetly into backing away into the still darkness inside his heart, it will be dealt with later, like always. Its not safe to break apart here.)

  
A man tallest in the group walks towards Eli, who runs up to him, speaking a mile a minute, before pointing at Ming Yu. At the pointing, he decides to give a salute. The mistake he makes is giving a salute he knows, one hand cupping his fist and a bow from the waist, which causes the tall hunter to make an odd look.  
Internally cursing, Ming Yu realizes that this probably looks highly suspicious. A stranger in odd robes coming from the dense forest, giving a foreign greeting and very little information of himself. (Even though its because Eli somehow cannot grasp the importance of information gathering, not because Ming Yu is against giving any information)

"Who are you? Why were you in the middle of the forest? You don't look like you have traveled far yet where you were is weeks from any other settlement but ours. I have never seen someone dressed like you," the man speaks, honing his surprisingly blue eyes at the robed man. He doesn't speak nearly as much as Eli, or as fast, but there's a certain mood to the chain-questioning that tells Ming Yu this is Eli's father.

  
Ming Yu watches as the hunter lays his hand on the pommel of his sword, the questions making more of the hunting party turn to watch. A few mutterings erupt as men look around to agree that no, nobody has seen clothes like that, they would remember.

  
He curses in his head for the choice of robes he had chosen that morning. Feeling fancy, the set chosen was even flowier than usual, a warm, thick silk and cotton ensemble that would drive the richest imperial concubine to envy. The cave he had been going to was deep in the mountains during winter, so the thick, flowy rich purple had seemed absolutely normal at the time. Now, it made Ming Yu look anything but a stranded wanderer. If anything, it made him look.. well. Like an imperial concubine. (But it was so pretty! And floofy! The embroidery was a favourite of- ah. More thoughts to bury quietly. He needed to change clothes before even his cultivation could not battle the heat of a mild late summer afternoon..)

Now what to do.

Tell the truth? Nah, he doesn't have enough information on what is going on himself, so blindly spewing half-truths will only make the situation more confusing. A believable lie is needed then. But how much to lie and how much truth to mix in..

  
"I believe I have been mixed in a spell mishap. I know for a fact I was transported quite a ways away from my home country, so I understand your confusion, but I assure you, I am but a victim of my circuimstances! Its pure luck I have knowledge of the language used here, otherwise we'd have no ways of communicating.." Ming Yu prays to all the gods he knows, even ones from his original world that his smile is convincingly ashamed, he really does not want to have a fight.

  
Readying himself to straight up beg, Ming Yu misses the hunter's deep sigh before he speaks, "another one? Why is it you mage-types always play with forces you can't control? You can tag along until we reach the village but that's all we can do."

  
"Many thanks for your generosity!" Ming Yu puts on the warmest, friendliest smile he can, all the while wondering to himself what the comment about being 'another one' meant.

  
During the next hour, Ming Yu doesn't learn much that Eli hasn't blabbered about before, but now has at least an idea on what to do. Apparently, the village he saw earlier is poor. Not dirt poor, but poor. There's a few fields and with hunting, that's enough to supply for everyone. Adventurers seem to make about two thirds of visitors, so Ming Yu decides to find some to either provide directions or if he gets lucky, to be hired to take him to the nearest town.

What he needs is a reliable way to gather intelligence. Usually, in the typical isekai fantasy setting, money would be the first issue, but for Ming Yu, it really isn't. He mentally calculated he has a treasury's worth in just raw metals, at least around 500 catties of that is either gold or silver. Last time he was superbly bored and went through all of his storage items, there was 450-500 liang of jade in differing forms scattered about as well, not to mention all the precious gems and stones he has been hoarding for three millennia. (What? Pretty stones are a girl's best friend after all. Even if not a girl anymore. Pretty stones are still pretty stones. So shiny..)

Money was never an issue to Ruthless Peak. The peak lord's tendency to accumulate wealth rather than spend it not well known, except for one student who once almost got pummeled to death by a falling crate of meteor iron. (Another sting is cooed into obedience and hidden away. The two weeks spent fussing over a mildly annoyed disciple with a splintered leg a warm glow in a lonely heart.)

Becoming an adventurer therefore is purely for information gathering purposes. It also provides identification needed to move from town to town all the while giving the perfect excuse to move around.

  
The village is indeed poor. A few houses, one main street, maybe a maximum of 100 people milling about. Its quaint.  
And all too familiar in its dusty, worn down state.

  
As the hunting party nears the village gate, Ming Yu's mind snaps a memory into his view for a few short seconds.

  
A memory of a dusty street. Of shouting people and pillowing robes.

Cultivators have come to town to find disciples. A mother is protecting her young daughter behind her back, while a middle aged man is berating her for "squandering her daughter's promising future". The girl looks terrified, tugging on her mother's robes, insisting she does not want to leave. She wants to marry her friend when they're old enough! She does not want to wield a sword!

A beggar stands on the side of the road, holding a boy of maybe 4 at best 5. The beggar looks nothing like the boy, but she holds him like he is hers. The memory is faint and fuzzy, but what is clear, is her mutterings. A rambling, non-stop chatter of everything and nothing. Her hands are shaking like leaves.

In the memory, the boy is at this point looking at the beggar, not at the screaming people, so he doesn't exactly know what happened, but he can surmise.  
The girl's mother gets desperate, the cultivator gets frustrated. A sword is drawn and slashed to the side of the mother-daughter pair and due to emotions flaring, its infused with qi almost accidentally.  
The bright crescent moon shape flits through the beggar diagonally. For a fleeting moment both boy and woman look at the cultivator, wondering what the light show is about.  
Until the beggar's body lurches forward. Her lower torso and feet don't move, but her upper torso bows forward in a mock kowtow at the esteemed cultivator.

The little boy doesn't speak, just stares. The mother and her daughter are screaming. A high pitched, terrified squeal that reminds the boy of a pig. But he just watches, stares, glues his tiny eyes on the cultivator's face.  
Its not pity he sees, its annoyance. Annoyance that now this promising disciple will not join their sect. Annoyance that he now has to deal with this trouble and get told off by a superior later.  
The annoyance turns to disgust, when a small hand grabs his robes. When did the boy move?

  
"Daozhang. That was not very nice."

  
The boy speaks with a ghostly tremor to his quiet voice. Its like the sect elders who are so old their bones creak as they move and who'se voice sounds like its miles away even though the body is right next to you.  
As the cultivator opens his mouth to demand the grubby boy release his hands before they are cut off, there's a realization that dawns on his face. Disgust turns to panic, to terror.

  
A cultivator might achieve full inedia. They might be impervious to cold and heat. But to be able to live without air takes much longer.  
There is no air for any of the cultivators to breathe. Their lungs are constricting, trying to reach a gas that isn't there.

  
The boy stares. There's no emotion except maybe boredom, on the small face, as tiny hands still grasp fine silk robes, as a the first man in the group falls to their knees clawing at the ground.

  
By the time the last, the group leader, falls, the boy has released his fist and just stands there, still staring, before darkness over takes the memory and the rest Ming Yu only knows from rumour and hear-say.

An elder who had taken part of the recruitment mission had incapacitated the child by the way of a shift blocking of a few pressure points. It was said that the elder had gone to extreme lengths to aqcuire the boy to his peak, even with a looming sentence of several murders. Nobody knew why at the time. Nobody knew most of the whys of the whole incident. How could a child of maybe 4 kill several adult cultivators. Why would an elder want to take in this child. Why would a child of 4 not mourn a mother figure in the slightest. Why did the small one show no discomfort or worry over suddenly being at a martial sect being told to pick up a sword.

The one part Ming Yu likes about the story is the confusion that descended, when the little four year old boy telling his master that the sword he was given was "shit tier quality" and that he would "never touch something this crappily made". He always enjoys remembering the first weapon he crafted with his then tiny hands.

It had taken 3 corpses and 6 injured before other disciples realized the tiny blade the boy wielded was not a toy. And that having your arteries cut open was a fairly uncomfortable affair.

By the time Ming Yu returns from his trip down memory lane, the village gates are behind the group and a building clearly largest in the village looms ahead.

He's taken to a tiny, but cozy, quest room, with a promise of a meal in the next few hours. Ming Yu doesn't feel tired, his cultivation is much too far gone for an earthly need like rest, but mentally, he feels exhausted. Its like he's seen the world six times over since he roused from a quaint inn outside the mountain range this morning.  
And maybe that's why the looming cloud in the back of his mind now rolls over him, like a storm front over tall mountains.

It finally hits, that if this world isn't where his disciple ended in, there might be no way to meet him again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> translation notes (I swear I might miss some words at some point, so excuses in advance if I do just that)
> 
> daozhang = unless I'm totally in the creek with no paddle, you could translate this to "daoist" straight up, but it feels weird so I won't, its formal *shrug*  
> catty/tties = unit of weight  
> liang = also a unit of weight  
> inedia = its the whole cultivation/xianxia thing where cultivators don't have to eat (the length of how long they can keep it up depends on their cultivation level)


	5. Trading nests

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Their chat however, was stopped by a commotion downstairs, loud enough to clearly hear into the small room. Someone was shouting something about a foul odour, while another voice asked if the open doors separating the inn's restaurant area and the courtyard, could be closed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 05/01/2020 Finding a BGM for this one was a CHORE. Not that writing it wasn't a chore! I had the basic idea down but then actually getting it sorted and written took me AGES T_T But the BGM is still kinda hanging in the air, I'm not completely sure I like what I ended up with, but I'll live with it since its the best I could come up with from my treck through all the saved playlists I have.. Mononoke OST - Oboroge https://youtu.be/2R45_6UQDII
> 
> 06/04/2020 Hi!? I opened up a new file to start on the new chapter, then when to check the latest I'd written for how I'd laid it out only to find out the "latest" was not the one published on AO3, but what I was GONNA write now!? I have NO memory of writing the start of the chapter and had a totally different idea on what to do, so now you get this weird amalgamation and I'm currently staring at the already written part like WHAT WHEN HOW  
> So if the chapter feels like its two different people living in one body, that's why! (why the fuck did I call it Trading Nests!?)

Deciding on a plan of action had been a fairly quick affair. Lingling had suggested they pretend to be concerned of "the man" returning that night, and ask for two people to be stationed outside the door. Hopefully, this would not only cause the men outside to be irritated for a "childish request" but also cause the patrol to feel safe. In theory, this should result in their guards getting sloppy at best, uncaring at worst.

  
What Lingling wanted was grumpy guards with little patience to care about keeping a careful watch. To aggravate the guards even more, she put on her best Concerned Young Miss face and harassed the men every hour, all day. By the time dinner came around, the two men outside Mao's room were snapping at her like dogs each time they heard the door creak open.  
Continuing her tactics after dinner, the teen counted out two more hours before finally closing the door with a sigh for the last time that night.

  
"Both of them are ready to tear me apart. They should embrace silence now.. Have you packed everything?" Carefully making sure to stay whisper quiet, she turned to look at Mao.

  
"Yes shijie, I have everything important with me. I'v left the rest as you said to do."

  
"Good, it has to look enough like a kidnapping for it to cause confusion. If they get suspicious about some items missing, even better. The more confused we leave them the better. If the sect is this splintered already, a bit extra should be enough to break their politics apart completely, giving us ample time to abscond to which ever sect your visitor is from." 

  
Looking like a general pleased with their plan, Lingling was petting an imaginary goatee, sitting across the table from Mao, who looked extremely unsure as to how to react to his shijie's strange behavior.

  
Their chat however, was stopped by a commotion downstairs, loud enough to clearly hear into the small room. Someone was shouting something about a foul odor, while another voice asked if the open doors separating the inn's restaurant area and the courtyard, could be closed.

Lingling's face turned from pleased schemer, to a confused alertness. She had definitely not done anything more than annoy the men watching over her shidi, even thought she had thought about mildly poisoning the food served for extra chaos..

  
What first sounded like a commotion, then turned to outright panic, as a female voice joined the fray, complaining about a mist creeping inside.

Downstairs, sure enough, a misty fog had started to climb up the wooden veranda surrounding the inn. It was causing clear discomfort to most patrons, as it came with a nasty, pungent odor akin to garbage or an outhouse. The owner of the establishment was trying to placate guests, saying it was clearly just an ill wind, nothing more.

Soon enough however, the Myriad Swords cultivators started fidgeting around, whispering among themselves. Some looked spooked, others were clearly ready to draw swords. The man chosen to lead the party rose up and swiftly walked to the owner, looking grave enough to shut the older man up in an instant.

  
"We are afraid this is no ill wind. There is intent to this and some of our group can affirm it is either a cultivational technique or array magic. The Myriad Swords would like to ask the inn guests to be taken-"

  
The Myriad Swords cultivator speaking was interrupted by a dozen guests loudly exclaiming that they saw a figure in the fog, causing a rapid shuffle in all cultivators present drawing swords or talismans. By then, even the weakest cultivator could feel a malignant qi creeping in to the courtyard, accompanied by a tall man.

He looked scruffy, unkempt and visibly hostile, sporting a sideways grin of yellow teeth above a scraggly beard. The blade hung on his back was rusty and splotched in stains that anyone could easily guess to be blood. Wearing mostly leather and metal bits like a patchwork, this man honed immediately in on the leader of the Myriad Swords group.

"Brat, is this all they sent? It seems like Myriad Swords can't wait to get rid of their cauldron fast enough!" The combination of a lopsided, dirty smile and the tall man's attitude get the Myriad Sect group leader to sputter an incoherent grumble, before drawing his sword.

  
"Which sect are you from!? Do you think the Myriad Swords to be so weak as to be defeated by one man?!"

  
"Ha! One man maybe, but I can easily wipe your scrawny boys off to visit some very nice springs by my lonesome! The sect I'm from need not announce itself either, only the weak stand behind names!" The scruffy cultivator raises his blade, pointing it at the Myriad Sword group leader with a wide, lunatic grin.

  
"Well, bring out the cauldron and I will leave, you wouldn't want to dirty the poor mortal folk's inn with blood, now would you?" A pregnant pause descends, as the group leader starts to sweat, considering his options.

At best, the Myriad Swords men could delay the aggressor while one of them ran for help. Maybe the other cultivators present would be willing to help, against someone who is more than likely a demonic sect cultivator, but its unlikely. The idea of giving over their shidi, however, leaves an ashen taste to his mouth, even if it seems to be the best choice at the time.

  
While the group leader is sinking deeper into a mire of his worry, the man in the courtyard causes a new wave of scared mumblings from the inn guests by sharply turning around. Staring at the entrance to the courtyard, a magnificent gate slightly ajar from when he entered, the demonic sect cultivator barks out a huff.

"I don't know how, but you're almost invisible to my senses. Stop creeping about and make your entrance!"

At first, there is no movement. The stinking fog continues to roll around the ground, turning the moonlit night into an unnerving sight reminiscent of a graveyard.  
But as the sparse clouds wisp by the full moon, the gate quietly and slowly swings open. In the light of the full moon, now again uninterrupted by clouds, stands a man in grey and purple robes.

  
Mao, having crept his way out of the room, with his shijie in tow, stands on the upper level balcony, peering out to the courtyard through open windows, stunned silent.

  
If before, Elder Xiuqiu seemed ethereal and unnatural, now in the full moon glow, he seems outright otherworldy. Not because of beauty, even if one could not find anyone more charming in the inn at the time, but because of an odd aura the man carried. As if the air around him was in a constant haze. A continual mirage, as if looking at a puddle on a hot summer day, a shimmer followed the man as he moved.

Most of the customers in the restaurant area were enchanted, now much less afraid, murmuring among themselves that a "Righteous Sect Master from somewhere has come to save us!" or that "this master will surely drive away this mongrel!" peppered in with some fairly uncouth things about the Myriad Swords sect for not being able to do more.  
But the cultivators sitting in the hall were all struck silent. Even the Myriad Swords men were staring the new comer in what almost looked akin to horror. If not horror, apprehension.

  
What the mortals did not feel or understand, was the amount of Qi pouring from this man. The sheer volume was starting to affect even the demonic sect cultivator, now turning his blade towards the man at the gate. It was like an oppressive wave rolling over all those in range, pushing them down with sheer force of pressure. Akin to holding a boulder above one's head, few of the weaker Myriad Swords cultivators had already fallen to their knees, shaking and sweating.

  
It was hard to see from inside the inn, but the demonic sect cultivator reacted to something the man at the gate did, shouting, "What do you think you are doing?! I won't offer you mercy even if you give me an arm to cut off!"

What Mao did not see, but the Myriad Swords group leader did, was that Elder Xiuqiu had snapped his fingers softly in front of him. Following the quiet, almost meek sound, was a rolling flame that took over and ate the fog, leaving behind it an acrid burning odor.  
Some of the female guests were covering their faces with their sleeves or wiping their eyes with them, complaining of a stinging pain, causing a murmur to take over the guests.

"Was the fog flammable?" Mao was frightened out of his robes by Lingling creeping up next to him, question hanging between them.

  
"How should I know!?" The boy didn't take his eyes off the yard for a second, only snapping back at his shijie, sniffling quietly for the smoke had now drifted up. It reminded Mao of fireworks, of the acrid after-taste it left in your mouth if you stood too close.

  
While the two bickered, Elder Xiuqiu had started walking towards the inn, seemingly ignoring the other man now brandishing a large blade at him. The demonic sect cultivator had started ranting something, cursing this new comer in creative ways, but getting no reaction from the target. The calm, slow walk of the man wasn't stopped until he was walking past the other. Then a blade, easily as tall as the gates to the yard, was swung at the Elder's head at a frightening speed missed by most guests.

  
Except it never landed. A few guests screamed, some of the cultivators got up on their knees as the oppressive Qi lessened, but there was no blood and no sound.

  
A heartbeat later the man who had been wielding a blade raised his arm, seeking to understand why his weapon did not connect. Only to raise a stump, cut cleanly at the elbow, lazily bleeding, as if his body hadn't yet realized it had lost a limb.

  
Another heartbeat later the man woke from his stupor and started to scream. His body caught up and as blood gushed out, he screamed even more, now from anger. It was almost as if the blood escaping his body had cut all coherent thought, as the man went to pick up his blade with his other hand and ran at the other man. Xiuqiu had walked past the other man, now several steps away, with his back wide open.

  
A third heartbeat, and the demonic sect cultivator was standing in front of the inn, with no arms. His blade was stuck to the ground in front of him, one hand still clutching it.  
Elder Xiuqiu had daintily moved to the side to first dodge the strike, then swirl a full circle to cut and return to where he started from. He looked like he had done nothing but open a scroll, or put back a book on the shelf. Like he hadn't excerted a single bit of his power for the act. Almost bored, he now looked at the Myriad Swords group leader, who had turned pale white.

"Th- Na-name yourself! If you are here for the cauldron, our answer is the same as before, M-myriad swords will not give-"

  
"This elder is here to pick up his disciple, nothing more."

  
"..Excuse me?"

  
"Did this elder perhaps stumble on his words without noticing? As I have explained, this elder is here to pick up his disciple to take with back home. Please kindly inform the little one named Mao he will be departing-"

  
"Absolutely not! When was this agreement made!? A child cannot agree to something like this on their own! The sect is in charge of the boy and he already has a master at the sect!" At the group leader's trembling insistance, Elder Xiuqiu started looking more and more bored at the situation. Even the peanut gallery was starting to murmur their opinions on the matter, causing concerned glares from cultivators around the room. Did mortals have no self-preservation skills!?

  
"A master and disciple bond is decided between the disciple and master, not by a third party. If you wish to make this into an argument, this elder is willing to exchange pointers on how to raise your cultivation so this youngster can learn himself out of these weird notions.." One elegant eyebrow raise and a disappointed scoff at the group leader caused an already sheet white man to now turn a fetching shade of red. This new comer looked not a day older than the group leader to the guests, who had now started giggling amongst themselves, completely forgetting the man bleeding to death on the yard. It was if some sort of group hallucination was taking over, turning the whole situation into a farce.   
The guests almost seemed drunk, while the cultivators were starting to sweat, wondering what had come over the normal folks.

Mao decided that this was the point to quickly descend the stairs and use the uncomfortable situation to his advantage to slip past the crowd. Only after he was safely standing by his new master, did the boy get spotted. It was as if a spell had broken when the white haired child suddenly appeared next to the robed man, followed by a quiet older girl now sweating to herself in realization that everything she had thought would happen, wasn't.

  
As the Elder looked downwards at Mao then questioningly at Lingling, the boy tried his best to convey with just a look his plea. "Please just ignore it and take her!"  
What Mao didn't expect however was the warmest, sweetest smile he had ever seen split across the older man's face before being carefully guided towards the door by a hand on his back. It was if the thought had been conveyed and approved with no questions asked. For a split second, Mao wondered if the elder could read minds?

  
"Do you think we will allow you to just walk out of here with our shidi!?" Bellowed the group leader, suddenly finding his voice, albeit with a crack at the end.

  
"Your shidi, junior? How is he your shidi if he isn't part of your sect or serve the same master?" Xiuqiu did not even deem it necessary to turn to speak to the group leader, simply speaking while looking forwards.

  
"As this elder has told you before, if need be, I will be happy to offer my time to teach you and your sect siblings where you are lacking."

  
After waiting a few short moments for a reply, Xiuqiu just continued walking in his unhurried, quiet pace towards the gate.

  
But just as they reached the gate, he stopped and put a thoughtful finger to his chin, as if pondering something. Then turning his head slowly to look backwards, he clearly said something, but the only ones who heard it were the cultivators.

  
Then, the man ushered the two children out of the gate, without further ceremony or comment, leaving behind a eerily quiet inn and fancy story.

  
What the cultivators told to the guests later, who had come demanding to be told what was said (and later their superiors at the Myriad Swords sect) was:  
"Of course if the Myriad Swords sect has an issue with my disciple, they may find him at this master's Peak. The Ruthless Peak of the Shadow Veiled Moon has its doors open all nights for those who wish to learn."

  
Just outside the gate Mao made a gesture of hitting his palm with his tiny fist, exclaiming quietly "Oh! So that's why Elder looked so surprised at my name!" gaining a quiet, Lingling stunning snort out of the purple robed man. "Indeed, you are a very sharp."

  
(get it its funny since Mao's name sounds the same as the Mao for spear, so him being sharp is- you know what don't mind me over here making puns)


	6. Chapter 6: Meeting the storm head on

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> He has been avoiding the dark clouds gathering at the edge of his conciousness for far too long at this point to even give them a glance. Yet, somehow, after a long day and now the added realization that he has no idea if he can even leave this world, something breaks.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 24/04 Once again, I had a hard time starting, but when the inspiration struck, I pretty much could write everything out during one night. This seems to be a trend? Also, um, why the fuck have I written KMY's name as Kong Ming Yu for several chapters?? Whats with the additonal space?? Kong Mingyu makes WAY more sense to me?? Past-me, could I ask some questions?  
> BGM is Ifi Ude's Dusza, which is pretty much just made itself one of KMY's personal theme songs
> 
> 20/07 I uhhh, forgot to post this. Three months ago. And only while wondering how I'd go about chapter 6, whining how I had 7 planned out, I find that chapter 6 is already written, albeit its short, but its an important interlude before the next part (that I forgot I had to write.. thinking I had to write the NEXT part..) Whoops 8) Expect 7 way faster, since I already know how its gonna go, just gotta write it down.

Usually, Kong Mingyu is a man who doesn't give much time to useless things like worrying or feeling depressed. If there is the type of person who hides their head in sand when something troublesome arrives, Mingyu instead is the sort of person who doesn't need to. He already has mastered the talent of not giving a single shit on a daily basis. If there is nothing he can do about something, he can easily ignore whatever comes by and when there is something he can do about it, he does so.  
He has been avoiding the dark clouds gathering at the edge of his conciousness for far too long at this point to even give them a glance. Yet, somehow, after a long day and now the added realization that he has no idea if he can even leave this world, something breaks.

A man who seems almost inhuman to most, weeps. The small guest room becomes a harbour to a dense fog of pure despair, uncertainty and anguish. What if this world does not have his disciple in it? What then?  
27 years spent dodging his emotional fragility has slowly but certainly broken the immortal down to his base emotions. Need. Want. Fear.

Love.

In the past three or so millenia, not once has Kong Mingyu felt as alone and miserable as the past 27 years. It has been long, dark and much too quiet. He wants nothing but to hear a quiet voice murmuring. A quiet voice talking to himself trying to decipher a manual or mouthing out a poem. Even a sharp admonishment against wandering hands that break concentration. Anything.

Several quiet voices echo inside Mingyu's soul sea, suggesting rest. The Sisters have always been keen on the changes to their master's moods and would always try to coax the smith to realizing he might be immortal, but he is not invincible. To most physical harm maybe, but not mental. Normally, weapon spirits weren't connected enough with their masters to feel emotions, but the Sisters were different. Their connection was unique, as not only was Kong Mingyu their master, he was also their creator, maintainer and enchanter.  
However, the voice that brings the solution their master will accept, isn't either of the Sisters, but a solemn, calm voice of undescript gender. And it isn't for rest, but for music. 

...However if dear reader thinks that a magnificent immortal, a master blacksmith and professional dandy would lie in bed, clutching a handkerchief listening to calming classical chinese qin music to heal his heart, dear reader is wrong.  
Kong Mingyu spent two solid hours listening to a messy mixture of music from two worlds, a mixture which would cause whiplash to most listeners after two songs and reading two full, horrible, zero grade stallion romance novels while eating an alarming amount of deep-fried food, only then succumbing to sleep. Or food coma. Who knows which.

Somehow, by a miracle of the heavens, the next day, what came out of the small quest room was just as ethereal and calm as it went in. Kong Mingyu had changed from his frilly, floaty purple ensemble to a more sensible grey combination, that was both less heavy but also less voluminous. And yet he still got an earful from the teenager who had already once disagreed with such frivolous clothing.


	7. Chapter 7: Entering the Sect

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Was I missed?" Like always, it seemed, the main emotion on Elder Xiuqiu's face was some sort of mild amusement. Like an adult cat watching kittens try to play fight in-front of it. Like someone who knew something you didn't and thought it was hilarious not to tell you.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 20/07 The BGM to this is also Ifi Ude's Dusza, mainly because they are supposed to be two sides of one coin, KMY's feeling very similar things in both, but in this I didn't wanna look at it from his pov, so the BGM is there to carry the mood from 6 to 7.   
> In 6 he's down because of loss, in 7 he's down because of stagnation.   
> In 6 he knows what he's missing, in 7 he has no idea yet still feels it.

The light, almost seemingly bendable sword lands smoothly in front of a giant two doored gate in the end of a long night. It had taken almost a week of constant flying to get here, as neither of the two young passengers could last for more than a few hours of flying. Trying to stand stably with weak golden cores on a flying sword was a lot of work, even less on a sword that clearly did not appreciate foreign qi on its surface.

Thankfully, Elder Xiuqiu did not seem to mind the frequent stops and nights stayed in quiet inns. His calm demeanor rubbed off on the young ones and their trip was not only uneventful, but tranquil. Somehow, to Mao, he seemed even happy to sit with the two at a table, surrounded by the chaos of a busy evening, eating mortal food. It seemed off in so many ways Mao decided on the second night to stop observing so closely or he'd have to start emptying water out of his ears.

The gate was at least three men's height if they stood on each others' shoulders. Painted a deep, intimidating red, it and its walls stood tall before the three. Murals covered most of the surfaces, telling stories of unknown legends, or maybe warnings for would-be attackers. To Lingling it just seemed full of itself and too expensive looking. Almost garish in its red, framed by gold metal fittings.

A small door cut into the main gate opened with a squeeky hinge that broke the spell of the gate apart. Suddenly, it just seemed just a little less fantastical and more like some rich lord's mansion, not the garish bastion it had been just minutes ago.

Peeking from the slightly ajar door was a girl of hard to say age of "somewhere between child and teenager" and due to her face it was even harder to discern where she landed on the age scale. She was wearing a neat and tidy set of robes that were probably the sect's disciple robes, judging from the jade-pendant hanging from her hip. It was the size of an adult man's fist, rectangular and thick. On it was carved the name of the sect in stylized lettering that was almost hard to read, but designed so if you squinted you could figure out what it said. Above the sect name was a stylized moonbow with a few dark clouds on top.

"Peak lord Kong returns!?" The girl looked stunned at seeing the man outside, not even noticing he wasn't alone.

"Was I missed?" Like always, it seemed, the main emotion on Elder Xiuqiu's face was some sort of mild amusement. Like an adult cat watching kittens try to play fight in-front of it. Like someone who knew something you didn't and thought it was hilarious not to tell you.

"Of course! The other peak lords have been all over themselves at Shigong's sudden disappearance. Every third disciple is on the betting pool made to guess when Peak lord Kong returns. It seems this disciple won't be getting her money back, my guess was much longer than three months of absence.." Having such a young girl brazenly not only talk so much at once, but also comment on her gambling caused Lingling to first hang her jaw, then look at the gate with righteous fury, before ending her emotional journey at realizing this was an unorthodox sect after all, gambling was the norm. The young disciple was grinning at Elder Xiuqiu however, seemingly not very upset over losing money.

"Now why on earth would any of the children on other peaks care a rat's ass where laoshi has been or why? Unbelievable, is gossip truly so dead in such a huge sect that one measly Peak lord's absence causes a betting pool of all things.." Seemingly disappointed, but betrayed by a slight smile, the man just waved his hand at the girl halfheartedly.

"It is late, my guests have been traveling for long, we will retire to Wuqing Peak first and handle affairs in the morning. If someone has a bone to pick, they can show up around noon to air their grievances, but laoshi can't promise he'll deign to listen, just to show up. Now, when sunzi's changes shifts, do run by Fang shizi's peak and tell the guard to inform Peak lord Fang to show her face at Wuqing sometime tomorrow. No need to tell her why, she won't care anyways and will complain no matter what the reason. Laoshi promises you a discount on your next trip to Wuqing for this." A warm, sweet smile fit Elder Xiuqiu's face much too well, almost to a point of it seeming fake, but Mao had seen a fake smile on that face, so he knew this was probably genuine.

The girl at the gate bowed deeply and wished a good night to her shigong as she held the door open for the three to pass.

What waited inside, was nothing Mao or Lingling could even think to expect. Normally, at this late an hour, anywhere should be quiet and dark. Only a red light district or a gambling house would be as loud and riddled in lanterns as the sect grounds.

Everywhere one looked, there was either a shop or a building full of tables and people. It was clearly just this one street, but it was if the people of a large town had all stuffed themselves on it. And all the way through it, a distance of several blocks, there were stares. Peak lord Kong seemingly could not walk anywhere inside this sect without people staring, openly and with varying emotions. Many were purely curious, some were hostile, but the majority was clearly either happy or amused. A few times they heard shopkeepers shout their thanks for winning them some good money in the betting pool, while once someone from the second story of a bar yelled insults and fairly colorful curses at the purple robed man for "wasting good people's money". Apparently the man had hoped the "old lecher" stay away for if not good, then at least for the six months the yelling man bet on.

Not a single hair was moved by any of this on Elder Xiuqiu however. He waved at people, nodded to the thanks or said a few words to the more brazen who came up to him in person, clinging to his side like limpets before being shooed away gently. It seemed as if the whole sect considered this "grandfather" someone of note.  
Lingling had been watching all of this with a rising horror, as scantily clad women and willowy men kept appearing from every corner to exchange words. An alarming number did not even mention the betting pool, but instead inquired if the lessons would start again soon. To a boy as young as Mao, there was nothing to explain any of it. But to Lingling, who had a budding knowledge of healing in the Dao, she had a creeping feeling this man would have to explain many a thing before she let her shidi stay on this peak. Mainly a detailed dossier on what her shidi was going to be doing on this Wuqing Peak, preferably with as much detail as possible. By the time one of the women, wearing little more than ribbons, straight up called them dual-cultivation lessons, Lingling had already started to regret this to the umpteenth degree.

After several blocks of noise, people and lights, the surroundings turned more mellow. Only enough lanterns hung to make sure there was ease of way and the storefronts stopped. It was suddenly much more roomy, the street widening significantly, replaced by well manicured gardens and a well maintained square with what looked like hay-dummies on the far end.

It took still a few more minutes of brisk walk and a disorienting feeling of having walked much more farther than one saw, to reach another gate. This time a bit smaller, but even more ominous. It was black wood, adorned in old, patina-ed metal that shone in lamp light. Almost like a sword's edge shone from full moon. The gate stood like a guard in front of a cell where a mass-murderer sat. There were no guards and even no handles. Just two large wooden doors inset to a dark grey stone wall. Eaves sculpted to look like dragons's tails hung purple paper lanterns with Wuqing written on them cast shadows over the gate, refusing even a hint of welcoming atmosphere.

Peak lord Kong didn't seem to even notice the gloomy scene and walked straight into the doors, disappearing through them like a ghost, adding to the terrifying mood.  
It took him peeking back out and waving a hand for the two outside to follow, albeit very carefully, through the gate that when passed, felt like slimy hands touched all over your body, but without leaving residue. Fully discomforted and disgusted, Lingling and Mao came out of the gate into a courtyard that wasn't nearly as huge as they thought form the length of the wall they had seen.

This was a very modest courtyard, with minimal gardening, mostly left to look almost shabby and natural. Like someone had abandoned it years ago. But with little touches that showed this wasn't the case. Paving was tidy, no grass grew over its sides. There were no dead leaves in sight and while everything looked very wild, it wasn't in the way or unsightly. There was clearly design at play here and endless work put in to make it seem like nobody touched this courtyard in years.

"This isn't the public courtyard, I must say. Don't go thinking someplace called Wuqing would look like this. The public courtyard is much more impressive. I just did not feel like walking all the way up to here from there so late. Might as well jump a few gates."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Shigong = in this case martial grandfather, meaning KMY is someone from an older generation than the gate girl's shifu/teacher.  
> Shizhi = martial nephew/niece, meaning Peak lord Fang is a disciple of either someone of the same generation as KMY or someone similarly aged. (spoiler she isn't, the gap is much larger, but its more polite to say this than to call her the same way as he later calls the gate girl)  
> sunzi = I have no idea how you'd call a "martial grand daughter" and my translations page didn't help either, so I just used "grand child" instead, since it does fit KMY's over-familiar way of talking to anyone younger than him (read: everyone. Fucking grandpa)


End file.
